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THE QUIRT

LITTLE FISH

Quirt Creek flowed sluggishly between willows which sagged none too gracefully across its deeper pools, or languished beside the rocky stretches that were bone dry from July to October, with a narrow channel in the center where what water there was hurried along to the pools below. For a mile or more, where the land lay fairly level in a platter-like valley set in the lower hills, the mud that rimmed the pools was scored deep with the tracks of the "TJ up-and-down" cattle, as the double monogram of Hunter and Johnson was called.

A hard brand to work, a cattleman would tell you. Yet the TJ up-and-down herd never seemed to increase beyond a niggardly three hundred or so, though the Quirt ranch was older than its lordly neighbors, the Sawtooth Cattle Company, who numbered their cattle by tens of thousands and whose riders must have strings of fifteen horses apiece to keep them going; older too than many a modest ranch that had flourished awhile and had finished as line-camps of the Sawtooth when the Sawtooth bought ranch and brand for a lump sum that looked big to the rancher, who immediately departed to make himself a new home elsewhere: older than others which had somehow gone to pieces when the rancher died or went to the penitentiary under the stigma of a long sentence as a cattle thief. There were many such, for the Sawtooth, powerful and stern against outlawry, tolerated no pilfering from their thousands.

The less you have, the more careful you are of your possessions. Hunter and Johnson owned exactly a section and a half of land, and for a mile and a half Quirt Creek was fenced upon either side. They hired two men, cut what hay they could from a field which they irrigated, fed their cattle through the cold weather, watched them zealously through the summer, and managed to ship enough beef each fall to pay their grocery bill and their men's wages and have a balance sufficient to buy what clothes they needed, and perhaps pay a doctor if one of them fell ill. Which frequently happened, since Brit was becoming a prey to rheumatism that sometimes kept him in bed, and Frank occasionally indulged himself in a gallon or so of bad whisky and suffered afterwards from a badly deranged digestion.

Their house was a two-room log cabin, built when logs were easier to get than lumber. That the cabin contained two rooms was the result of circumstances rather than design. Brit had hauled from the mountain-side logs long and logs short, and it had seemed a shame to cut the long ones any shorter. Later, when the outside world had crept a little closer to their wilderness--as, go where you will, the outside world has a way of doing--he had built a lean-to shed against the cabin from what lumber there was left after building a cowshed against the log barn.

In the early days, Brit had had a wife and two children, but the wife could not endure the loneliness of the ranch nor the inconvenience of living in a two-room log cabin. She was continually worrying over rattlesnakes and diphtheria and pneumonia, and begging Brit to sell out and live in town. She had married him because he was a cowboy, and because he was a nimble dancer and rode gallantly with silver-shanked spurs ajingle on his heels and a snakeskin band around his hat, and because a ranch away out on Quirt Creek had sounded exactly like a story in a book.

Adventure, picturesqueness, even romance, are recognized and appreciated only at a distance. Mrs. Hunter lost the perspective of romance and adventure, and shed tears because there was sufficient mineral in the water to yellow her week's washing, and for various other causes which she had never foreseen and to which she refused to resign herself.

Brit would not sell his ranch. In this Frank Johnson, old-time friend and neighbor, who had taken all the land the government would allow one man to hold, and whose lines joined Brit's, profanely upheld him. They had planned to run cattle together, had their brand already recorded, and had scraped together enough money to buy a dozen young cows. Luckily, Brit had "proven up" on his homestead, so that when the irate Mrs. Hunter deserted him she did not jeopardize his right to the land.

Brit was philosophical, thinking that a year or so of town life would be a cure. If he missed the children, he was free from tears and nagging complaints, so that his content balanced his loneliness. Frank proved up and came down to live with him, and the partnership began to wear into permanency. Share and share alike, they lived and worked and wrangled together like brothers.

For months Brit's wife was too angry and spiteful to write. Then she wrote acrimoniously, reminding Brit of his duty to his children. Royal was old enough for school and needed clothes. She was slaving for them as she had never thought to slave when Brit promised to honor and protect her, but the fact remained that he was their father even if he did not act like one. She needed at least ten dollars.

Brit showed the letter to Frank, and the two talked it over solemnly while they sat on inverted feed buckets beside the stable, facing the unearthly beauty of a cloud-piled Idaho sunset. They did not feel that they could afford to sell a cow, and two-year-old steers were out of the question. They decided to sell an unbroken colt that a cow-puncher fancied. In a week Brit wrote a brief, matter-of-fact letter to Minnie and enclosed a much-worn ten-dollar banknote. With the two dollars and a half which remained of his share of the sale, Brit sent to a mail-order house for a mackinaw coat, and felt cheated afterwards because the coat was not "wind and water proof" as advertised in the catalogue.

More months passed, and Brit received, by registered mail, a notice that he was being sued for divorce on the ground of non-support. He felt hurt, because, as he pointed out to Frank, he was perfectly willing to support Minnie and the kids if they came back where he could have a chance. He wrote this painstakingly to the lawyer and received no reply. Later he learned from Minnie that she had freed herself from him, and that she was keeping boarders and asking no odds of him.

To come at once to the end of Brit's matrimonial affairs, he heard from the children once in a year, perhaps, after they were old enough to write. He did not send them money, because he seemed never to have any money to send, and because they did not ask for any. Dumbly he sensed, as their handwriting and their spelling improved, that his children were growing up. But when he thought of them they seemed remote, prattling youngsters whom Minnie was forever worrying over and who seemed to have been always under the heels of his horse, or under the wheels of his wagon, or playing with the pitchfork, or wandering off into the sage while he and their distracted mother searched for them. For a long while--how many years Brit could not remember--they had been living in Los Angeles. Prospering, too, Brit understood. The girl, Lorraine--Minnie had wanted fancy names for the kids, and Brit apologized whenever he spoke of them, which was seldom--Lorraine had written that "Mamma has an apartment house." That had sounded prosperous, even at the beginning. And as the years passed and their address remained the same, Brit became fixed in the belief that the Casa Grande was all that its name implied, and perhaps more. Minnie must be getting rich. She had a picture of the place on the stationery which Lorraine used when she wrote him. There were two palm trees in front, with bay windows behind them, and pillars. Brit used to study these magnificences and thank God that Minnie was doing so well. He never could have given her a home like that. Brit sometimes added that he had never been cut out for a married man, anyway.

Old-timers forgot that Brit had ever been married, and late comers never heard of it. To all intents the owners of the Quirt outfit were old bachelors who kept pretty much to themselves, went to town only when they needed supplies, rode old, narrow-fork saddles and grinned scornfully at "swell-forks" and "buckin'-rolls," and listened to all the range gossip without adding so much as an opinion. They never talked politics nor told which candidates received their two votes. They kept the same two men season after season,--leathery old range hands with eyes that saw whatever came within their field of vision, and with the gift of silence, which is rare.

If you know anything at all about cattlemen, you will know that the Quirt was a poor man's ranch, when I tell you that Hunter and Johnson milked three cows and made butter, fed a few pigs on the skim milk and the alfalfa stalks which the saddle horses and the cows disdained to eat, kept a flock of chickens, and sold what butter, eggs and pork they did not need for themselves. Cattlemen seldom do that. More often they buy milk in small tin cans, butter in "squares," and do without eggs.

Four of a kind were the men of the TJ up-and-down, and even Bill Warfield--president and general manager of the Sawtooth Cattle Company, and of the Federal Reclamation Company and several other companies, State senator and general benefactor of the Sawtooth country--even the great Bill Warfield lifted his hat to the owners of the Quirt when he met them, and spoke of them as "the finest specimens of our old, fast-vanishing type of range men." Senator Warfield himself represented the modern type of range man and was proud of his progressiveness. Never a scheme for the country's development was hatched but you would find Senator Warfield closely allied with it, his voice the deciding one when policies and progress were being discussed.

As to the Sawtooth, forty thousand acres comprised their holdings under patents, deeds and long-time leases from the government. Another twenty thousand ache question: "My teacher even can not do that." "Look here," said Reutter, "I will trill for you. Pay attention and see how I do it." He had scarcely finished, when Haydn stood before him with the utmost confidence and after two attempts trilled so perfectly that Reutter in astonishment cried out, "bravo," drew out of his pocket a seventeen-kreuzer piece, and presented it to the little virtuoso. This incident is related by Dies, the painter, who was intimate with Haydn from 1805 until his death, and who published in 1810 the very interesting "Biographical Notices" of him.

The little fellow meanwhile devoted himself to vocal practice until his eighth year, when he was to enter the chapel, for the Hofcapellmeister had made this stipulation when he promised the father to advance his son. As he could find no teacher who was versed in the rules, he studied by himself, and following the natural method, learned to sing the scales and made such rapid progress that when he went to Vienna, Reutter was astonished at his facility.

Dies, speaking further of this time in Haydn's youth, says: "I must guess at many details, for Haydn always spoke of his teacher with a reserve and respect which did honor to his heart"--feelings all the more to his credit when we consider the following statements, from the same authority: "What was very embarrassing to him and at his age must have been painful, was the fact that it looked as if they were trying to starve him, soul and body. Joseph's stomach observed a perpetual fast. He went to the occasional 'academies,' where refreshments were provided as compensation for the choir-boys, and once having made this valuable discovery, his propensity to attend was irresistible. He tried to sing as beautifully as he could that he might acquire a reputation and thus secure invitations which would give him the opportunity of appeasing his gnawing hunger." At such times, when not observed, he would fill his pockets with "nadeln" or other delicacies. Reutter himself had very little income from which to pay his choir-boys, so they had to famish.

Notwithstanding he sensitively felt the misery of his condition, Haydn's youthful buoyancy did not desert him. Dies says: "At the time the court was building the Summer Palace at Schonbrunn, Haydn had to sing there with the church musicians in the Whitsuntide holidays. When not engaged in the church he joined the other boys, climbing the scaffolding and made considerable noise on the boards. One day the boys suddenly perceived a lady; it was Maria Theresa herself, who at once ordered some one to drive away the noisy youngsters, and threaten them with a whipping if they were caught there again. On the very next day, urged on by his temerity, Haydn climbed the scaffolding alone, was caught and received the promised punishment which he deserved. Many years afterward, when Haydn was engaged in Prince Esterhazy's service, the Empress came to Esterhaz. Haydn presented himself and offered his humble thanks for the punishment received on that occasion. He had to relate the whole story, which occasioned much merriment."

At that time we behold our hero in an exalted and dignified position, but how thorny was the upward course!

"The beautiful voice with which he had so often satisfied his hunger, suddenly became untrue and commenced to break," says Dies. The Empress was accustomed to attend the festival of St. Leopold at the neighboring monastery of Klosterneuburg. She had already intimated to Reutter, in sport, that Haydn "could not sing any more, he crowed." At this festival, therefore, he selected the younger brother, Michael, for the singing. He pleased the Empress so much that she sent him twenty-four ducats. As Haydn was no longer of any service to Reutter in a pecuniary way, and particularly as his place was now filled, he decided to dismiss his superfluous boarder. Haydn's boyish folly accelerated his departure. One of the other choir-boys wore his hair in a queue, contrary to the style, and Haydn had cut it off. Reutter decided that he should be feruled. The time of punishment came. Haydn, now eighteen years of age, sought in every way to escape, and at last declared that he would not be a choir-boy any longer if he were punished: "That will not help you. You shall first be punished and then march."

Reutter kept his word, but he counseled his dismissed singer to become a soprano, as they were very well paid at that time. Haydn, with genuine manliness, would not consent to the tempting proposal, and late in the autumn of 1749 he started out in the great world in which he was such a stranger, "helpless, without money, with three poor shirts and a thread-bare coat." After wandering about the streets, distressed with hunger, he threw himself down on the nearest bench and spent his first night in the damp November air, under the open heavens. He was lucky enough to meet an acquaintance, also a choir-singer, and an instructor as well. Though he and his wife and child occupied one small chamber, he gave the helpless wanderer shelter--a trait of that Austrian humanity which, at a later period, was reflected in the exquisite tones of Haydn's art. "His parents were very much distressed," says Dies again; "his poor mother, especially, expressed her solicitude with tearful eyes. She begged her son to yield to the wishes and prayers of his parents and devote himself to the church. She gave him no rest, but Haydn was immovable. He would give them no reasons. He thought he expressed himself clearly enough when he compressed his feelings into the few words: 'I can never be a priest.'" In his seventy-sixth year, he said to the choir-boys who were presented to him: "Be really honest and industrious and never forget God." It is evident, therefore, that it was not the lack of sincere piety that kept him from the priesthood. He felt that he was called to another and more fitting sphere, and we now know that his feelings and impulses did not deceive him.

Necessity, however, came near forcing him into the life he had so resolutely refused, for he got little money from the serenades and choir-work in which he took part, though at other times it left him the wished-for leisure for study and composition. The quiet loneliness in that little dark garret under the tiles, the complete lack of those things which can entertain an unoccupied mind, and the utter piteousness of his condition, at times led him into such unhappy reveries that he was driven to his music to chase away his troubles. "At one time," says Dies, "his thoughts were so gloomy, or more likely his hunger was so keen, that he resolved, in spite of his prejudices, to join the Servite Order so that he could get sufficient to eat. This, however, was only a fleeting impulse, for his nature would never allow him to really take such a step. His disposition happily inclined to joyousness and saved him from any serious outbreaks of melancholy. When the summer rain or the winter snow, leaking through the cracks of the roof, awoke him, he regarded such little accidents as natural, and made sport of them."

For some time he was not positively sure what course to pursue, and he projected a thousand plans, which were abandoned almost as soon as they were formed. For the most part hunger was the motive that urged him on to rash resolves, for instance, a pilgrimage to the Maria cloister in Styria. There he went at once to the choir-master, announced himself as a chapel-scholar, produced some of his musical sketches, and offered his services. The choir-master did not believe his story and dismissed him, as he became more importunate, saying: "There are too many ragamuffins coming here from Vienna, claiming to be chapel-boys, who can't sing a note." Another day, Haydn went to the choir, made the acquaintance of one of the singers and begged of him his music-book. The young man excused himself on the ground that it was against the rules. Haydn pressed a piece of money into his hand and stood by him until the music commenced. Suddenly he seized the book out of his hands and sang so beautifully that the chorus-master was amazed, and afterward apologized to him. The priests also inquired about him and invited him to their table. Haydn remained there eight days, and, as he said, filled his stomach for a long time to come, and afterward was presented with a little purse made up for him.

Among the bequests in Haydn's will of 1802 is the following: "To the maiden, Anna Buchholz, one hundred florins, because her grandfather in my youth and at a time of urgent necessity lent me one hundred and fifty florins, without interest, which I repaid fifty years ago." This, for him a considerable loan, enabled him for the first time to have a room of his own where he could work quietly. This was not far from the year 1750. Dies relates, in the year 1805: "Chance placed in Haydn's hands, a short time before, one of his youthful compositions which he had utterly forgotten--a short four-voiced mass with two obligato soprano parts. The discovery of this lost child, after fifty-two years of absence, was the occasion of true joy to the parent. 'What particularly pleases me in this little work,' said he, 'is its melody and positive youthful spirit,' and he decided to give it a modern dress." The mass was by this means preserved and may be regarded as his first large work. We are thus enabled to date it at the beginning of the year 1750.

At that time Haydn lived in the Michaeler house , in the Kohlmarket, one of the choicest sections of the city, but was again under the roof and exposed to the inclemency of the weather. At one time the room had no stove, and winter mornings he had to bring water from the well, as that in his wash-basin was frozen. There were some distinguished occupants in the house; the princess Esterhazy, whose son, Paul Anton, became Haydn's first patron, and the famous and talented poet Metastasio, who not long after confided to him his little friend Marianna Martines as a piano scholar, and paid his board as compensation. The child must have been well grounded in music, for thirty years later Mozart frequently played four-handed pieces with her. Her instruction, after the style of the time, obliged Haydn to write little compositions. These early pieces circulated freely but they have all been lost. He considered it a compliment for people to accept them, and did not know that the music-dealers were doing a flourishing business with them. Many a time he stopped with delight before the windows to gaze at one or another of the published copies. That this work, however, was very distasteful to him is evident from his own words: "After my voice was absolutely gone, I dragged myself through eight miserable years, teaching the young. It is this wretched struggle for bread which crushes so many men of genius, taking the time they should devote to study. It was my own bitter experience and I should have accomplished little or nothing if I had not zealously worked at night upon my compositions." Urgent as his necessity was, he declined to take a permanent and good paying position in a Vienna band, and thereby sell his entire time. "Freedom! what more can one ask for?" said Beethoven. Haydn insisted upon having it at least for his genius. Many times in his life he gave expression to this feeling. In his old age he said to Griesinger: "When I sat at my old worm-eaten piano, I envied no king his happiness." We shall see that he had more of real inward happiness as a composer, than as a pianist.

With such a disposition he easily retained his good humor and equanimity, and, many of his youthful traits clearly reflect the Haydn of the genial minuets and humorous finales. For the entertainment of his comrades, who were never lacking, he once tied a chestnut roaster's hand-cart to the wheels of a fiacre, and then called to the driver of the latter to go on, while he quietly made off, followed by the curses of the two victims. At another time he conceived the idea of inviting several musicians at a specified hour to a pretended serenade. The rendezvous was in the Tiefengraben, where Beethoven lived for a few years after his arrival in Vienna. They were instructed to distribute themselves before different houses and at the street-corners. Even in the High Bridge street, where Mozart lived at a later period, stood a kettle-drummer. Very few of the musicians knew why they were there, and each had permission to play what he pleased. Dies concludes his description of this roguish trick as follows: "Scarcely had the horrible concert begun when the astonished occupants threw open their windows and commenced to curse the infernal music. In the meantime the watchmen approached. The players scampered off at the right time, except the drummer and one violinist, who were arrested. As they would not name the ringleader, they were discharged after a few days' imprisonment."

It was at this time of his early struggles that he went out one day to purchase some piano work suitable for study, and acting upon the advice of the music-dealer took a volume of the sonatas of Philip Emanuel Bach, the composer, who first placed piano music upon an independent and so to speak, poetical foundation. "It appears to me," says this gifted son of the great Bach, in an autobiographical sketch, "that it is the special province of music to move the heart." To such an one the genial and imaginative nature of our genuine Austrian musician did involuntary homage from the very first. "I never left my piano until I had played the sonatas through," said Haydn, when old, with all the enthusiasm of youth, "and he who knows me thoroughly can not but find that I owe very much to Bach, for I understood and studied him profoundly. Indeed, upon one occasion he complimented me upon it." Bach once said that he was the only one who completely understood him and could make good use of his knowledge. Rochlitz informs us that Haydn said: "I played these sonatas innumerable times, especially when I felt troubled, and I always left the instrument refreshed and in cheerful spirits." A sketch of this same Bach, dated 1764, says: "Always rich in invention, attractive and spirited in melody, bold and stately in harmony, we know him already by a hundred masterpieces, but not as yet do we fully know him."

In reality, instrumental music was now for the first time entering with self-confidence and strength upon the freer path of the opera. The end of that path, though far distant, was individual characterization. Bach himself once wrote a preface to a trio for strings. He says in it that he has sought to express something which otherwise would require voices and words. It may be regarded as a conversation between a sanguine and a melancholy person who dispute with one another through the first and second movements, until the melancholy man accepts the assertion of the other. At last, they are reconciled in the finale. The melancholy man commences the movement with a certain feeble cheerfulness, mixed with sadness, which at last threatens to become actual grief, but after a pause, is dissipated in a figure of lively triplets. The sanguine man follows steadily along, "out of courtesy," and they strengthen their agreement, while the one imitates the other even to his identity. From such germs, in which the intellectual idea is more than its artistic expression, Haydn evolved that which made him the founder of modern instrumental music, the extreme limit of which is the representation of the world's vital will.

Melody, in other words, the vital will illuminated by reason, also begins at this point to assert its sure mastery, as the song and the dance were then the essential type of this modern instrumental music. Key, accent, rhythm, even the rests, now became the conscious means of fixed color and tone, in which every emotion, every aspiration, every exertion of our powers has its full value. Harmonic modulations help to maintain and to deepen the given tone-color. Above all else, the dissonance is no longer a matter of mere chance or transient charm to the ear, but the road to an absolute effect, designed by the composer. Bach many a time sought for it, but Haydn gave it poetical effect. He does not hesitate, for example, in the finale of the great E flat major sonata, to introduce the augmented triad, which Richard Wagner uses in such a strikingly characteristic manner, bringing it in as a prepared dissonance, but at the same time allowing it to enter freely. And still more, they had before them the boundless treasures of Sebastian Bach, which Mozart and Beethoven at a later period opened so fully and which they emphasized with such heart-stirring power.

The difference of keys moreover became recognized as of greater value, and the ground-color of pieces is more individual. It does not follow, however, on this account that the marvelous gifts of native counterpoint were thrown aside. On the other hand, Haydn, in his treatment of the so-called thematic development in the second part of the first movement and in the finale of the sonata, brings them out according to their proper intellectual value, so that this music also must be "heard with the understanding." Finally, the salient points of the whole style, which was called the "galante," because it did not belong to the church or to the erudite but to the salon, is as, we may say, the grand architectural gradations and building up of the whole, which gives to it an arrangement of parts like the symmetry of the Renaissance art, and the same similarity modern music in general holds to the Gothic of the German counterpoint. Haydn by nature and every vital function, belonged to active life, with its manifold forms of thought and changing mental conditions, and, therefore, found the sonata-form the very best for the depositing of his musical wealth, and for the magnifying of his own inner powers and capacities by its further development. It was for this reason that he played the Bach "Sonatas for Students and Amateurs" with such delight and sat at his piano so gladly, for it aroused in him a freer activity of fancy and heartfelt emotions of similar form.

Philip Emanuel Bach's instruction book, the "Versuch uber die wahre Art das Clavier zu spielen," published in Berlin in 1753, with which Haydn became acquainted shortly afterward, was, in his judgment, "the best, most thorough and useful work which had ever appeared as an instruction book," and Mozart as well as Beethoven expressed the same opinion, and yet the ridiculous accusation was made after this that Haydn had copied and caricatured Bach, because Bach was not on good terms with him. The story may perhaps have arisen from the fact that Bach in his autobiography sought to attribute the decline of the music of his day to "the comedian so popular just now." This, however, referred to something entirely different, and in 1783, Bach publicly wrote: "I am constrained by news I have received from Vienna to believe that this worthy man, whose works give me more and more pleasure, is as truly my friend as I am his. Work alone praises or condemns its masters, and I therefore measure every one by that standard." Dies even declares that Haydn, in 1795, returned from London by way of Hamburg to make the personal acquaintance of Bach, but arrived too late, for he was dead. Bach died in 1788, and could it be possible that Haydn was not aware of it? The journey by way of Hamburg had another purpose.

Haydn still kept up his violin practice, and received further instruction from his countryman and friend, Dittersdorf, afterward the composer of "The Doctor and Apothecary." Dies says: "Once they strolled through the streets at night and stopped before a common beer-house, in which some half drunk and sleepy musicians were wretchedly scraping away on a Haydn minuet. 'Let us go in,' said Haydn. They entered the drinking-room. Haydn stepped up to the first fiddler and very coolly asked: 'Whose minuet is this?' The fiddler replied still more coolly, and even fiercely: 'Haydn's.' Haydn strode up to him, saying with feigned anger: 'It is a worthless thing.' 'What! what! what!' shrieked the interrupted fiddler, in his wrath, springing up from his seat. The rest of the players imitated their leader, and would have beaten Haydn over the head with their instruments, had not Dittersdorf, who was of larger stature, seized him in his arms and shoved him out of doors."

Dittersdorf himself, in his biography, narrates another instance of this intimacy. In 1762, he accompanied Gluck to Italy. During his absence, the famous Lolli appeared in Vienna with great success. On his return, he resolved to surpass Lolli's fame, and feigning sickness he kept his room for an entire week, and practiced incessantly. Then he reappeared and achieved a success. The universal verdict was, that Lolli excited wonder and Dittersdorf too, but that the latter played to the heart also. He adds: "The rest of the summer and the following winter, I was frequently in the society of the gracious Haydn. Every new piece of other composers which we heard we criticised between ourselves, commending what was good and condemning what was bad."

Here, therefore, we have an example of the fruitful germs of invention which Haydn displayed in motives and melodies, showing us, as it were, a personal presence possessing those musical characteristics which Mozart and Beethoven developed with such striking fidelity to life, and which by their efforts again invested dramatic representation with a new language. What the Italian had accomplished only in the way of a certain native grace of melody, and the French, on the other hand, with too partial a study in their dramatic recitative and piano music, German intelligence, and above all, German feeling, accomplished by the unprejudiced acceptance of melody itself. We also observe, mingled with these elements, that vein of German humor which first welled up in complete spontaneity and fullness in Haydn's music, so that we have, as it were, all the successive steps of development in the building up of his artistic individuality. At this point his youth and the main part of his early education close. We have reached the period of his first original creation, but it may be of interest, before we close this first chapter, to add a few words about the opera itself, in order that we may appreciate the real nature of this first original accomplishment of the artist as it deserves.

AT PRINCE ESTERHAZY'S.

Haydn's Studies with Porpora--His Italian Operas--Engagement with Count Von Morzin--His First String Quartet--An Unfortunate Marriage--Domestic Troubles without End--Appointment as Capellmeister at Esterhaz--His Orchestra and Chorus--Rapid Musical Growth--His Most Important Earlier Compositions--Development of the Quartet--Personal Characteristics and Anecdotes--The Surprise Symphony--Influence of his Life at Esterhaz upon his Music.

"His hours were occupied with lesson-giving and studies. Music so far monopolized his time that at this period no other than musical books came into his hands. The only exceptions were the works of Metastasio, and these can hardly be called an exception, as Metastasio always wrote for music, and therefore a Capellmeister who had determined to try his powers in opera ought to have been acquainted with his writings," says Dies. We know from Haydn himself that an Italian singer and opera composer was his last instructor in thorough-bass; and that he had composed much but was not firmly grounded, that is, was not correct and strong until he had the good fortune to study the fundamental principles of composition, with the famous Porpora.

The Neapolitan, Nicolo Porpora was in Vienna from 1753 to 1757. He belonged to that early school of Italian opera which dominated nearly all Europe. The charm of melody predominated at this time and with it, the art of singing. They had reached their highest point. Smoothly flowing melody, however, was considered the main essential, and above all things, clearness and very simple harmonic structure characterized this school. Haydn played the accompaniments when Porpora gave singing lessons to the ten-year-old Martines and to the mistress of an ambassador, and was paid with lessons in composition from the impetuous and supercilious old master. "Ass, vagabond, blockhead," alternating with blows, greeted this not very accomplished "Tedesco" . For three months he filled the position of servant and blacked his master's shoes. "But I improved in singing, in composition and in Italian very much," says the modest mechanic's son, who, plain and simple himself, loved his art above all else. In fact, compared with the German music before him, or even with Philip Emanuel Bach's sonatas, Haydn's style at once shows not only that he had abandoned the "Tudesk" , of which the Italians complained, but that he had obtained a more refined phrasing of melody and a greater clearness of harmony, whereas the art of Bach had not advanced beyond the intellectual and characteristic. He also gave up embellishments and manifested a strong desire for the pure lines, and above all recognized that symmetry of construction which was rare among the Germans themselves, and yet constitutes an essential feature of modern German instrumental music.

The first larger works of Haydn were also Italian operas. He prized them very much himself, and they were also very pleasing to others; and it was only a deep, inward feeling for the calling he had chosen and a happy chance, which gave him the opportunity of satisfying that feeling, that saved him from a course which certainly might have secured him speedy fame and fortune, but not that immortal halo of glory which crowns the "Father of the Symphony." He even declined an invitation from Gluck, at that time the most celebrated of the Italian opera-composers, to go to Italy! Apart from this, it may be said incidentally, we learn of no nearer relations between these two artists. Temperament, character and the objects of their ambition kept them widely apart.

Haydn now devoted himself still more earnestly to studies of a theoretical nature. From sixteen to eighteen hours daily work was his rule, two-thirds of the time being devoted to the necessities of life. Mattheson's "Vollkommener Capellmeister" and the "Gradus ad Parnassum" of Fux, the Vienna Hofcapellmeister, were his text-books. "With unwearied determination Haydn sought to master the theory of Fux," says Griesinger, the councilor, who met him frequently in 1800, and in 1810 published the "Biographical Notices" of him. He says: "Haydn studied out the problems, laid them aside some weeks, then looked them over again and reviewed them often enough to make sure he was master of them." Haydn called this work , a classic, and kept a much worn copy of it all his life. Mattheson's book was found among his relics, "completely gone." This work certainly did not extend his knowledge of composition, but he prized the method, and educated many a scholar in it during his life, and among those scholars was--Beethoven.

"He officiated as organist at a church in the suburbs, wrote quartets and other pieces which commended him still more favorably to amateurs, so that he was universally recognized as a genius," says Dies. One of these amateurs was the councilor, Von Furnberg, "from whom I received special marks of favor," says Haydn himself. Von Furnberg, who was already indebted to Haydn for several trios, was accustomed to have chamber-music at his villa in Weinzerl, played by the pastor of the place, his own steward, a violoncellist, and Haydn, and one day encouraged the latter to write a string quartet. Thus an accident of his surroundings turned his inventive spirit toward that particular form of chamber-music, the string quartet, which was destined to be so wonderful in results. This occurred in 1750.

The first quartet , met with such an instant success and so actively inspired Haydn himself, that in a short time he produced eighteen works in this style. And yet a Prussian major who had been made a prisoner in the Seven Years' War, who heard these early productions, says that although every one was in raptures over his compositions, Haydn was modest even to timidity, and could not bring himself to believe that they were of any account. Twenty years later, even, he looked up to Hasse, at that time indeed famous throughout the world, as a great composer, and declared he would treasure his praise of his "Stabat Mater" like gold, though it was undeserved, "not on account of the opinion itself, but for the sake of a man so estimable." Who knows Hasse to-day, and who that knows anything of music is not familiar with Joseph Haydn and his quartets? The English music-hunter, Burney, mentions that in 1772 he heard them played at Gluck's!

It contributed greatly to his activity in composition that he was now in better circumstances. Furnberg had secured for him the appointment of "director" in the establishment of a music-loving count. The first quartets breathe the full, joyous humor of his child-like spirit. Though at first many a one protested against the lowering of music to mere trifling and was of the opinion that there was no earnest effort in his compositions, the verdict this time declared itself in favor of the creator of this style, and many a deeply earnest tone in these works is a souvenir of happy hours, which even now a quartet-evening with Haydn affords.

The Count, who in 1759 had installed Haydn as his director--and one in that position must also be a composer--was the Bohemian nobleman, Franz von Morzin. He passed his winters in Vienna and his summers at his country house at Lukavec, where he kept his orchestra, and while with him Haydn wrote his first symphony. There were symphonies indeed long before Haydn. Originally, all music in several parts was thus designated--at first, vocal pieces with instrumental accompaniments, but after the seventeenth century, instrumental music only. The instrumental preludes to the Italian operas, in particular, were called symphonies. The symphony in regular form consisted of an Allegro, an Adagio and a second Allegro. Haydn made the three movements, which he had transferred from the sonata-form to the quartet, richer and more independent, and added to them the Minuet, so that four movements became the rule. Haydn's progress, therefore, was exemplified in the symphony by the freedom and vivacity which he gave to the separate instruments, but above all, by their skillful combination and the dynamic gradations of the ensemble. For these he had his models in the compositions of the Mannheim school, which Mozart so much admired afterward.

Haydn's first symphony, in D major, is a prominent example of the clearness of his method in such larger orchestral work. We shall soon see that he developed it still farther. His position with the Count, satisfactory so far as compensation was concerned, might have been the source of prolific creation, for the Count and his young son were enthusiastic musical amateurs, but the contract stipulated that he should remain unmarried. Haydn was then twenty-seven years of age, and it was not until that time that the charms of the other sex attracted his attention, and it happened then only by an accident which reveals to us the innocence of his youth. In his later years he was fond of telling the story that once when he was accompanying the young Countess in her singing, she stooped over, so as to see better, and her neckerchief became disarranged. "It was the first time I had ever witnessed such a sight. I was embarrassed, my playing ceased, and my fingers lay idly on the keys," he told Griesinger. "What has happened, Haydn," said the Countess, "what are you doing?" With perfect respect, Haydn replied: "Who could retain his self-command in your gracious ladyship's presence?" The sequel to such an unexpected revelation was not long in following.

In the autumn of 1760, Haydn was again with his scholars in Vienna. Among them were two daughters of Keller, a wig-maker, in the Ungargasse, who had frequently assisted him before this time. The younger daughter was so attractive to him, that in spite of the Count's order, which only made her still more alluring to the fiery young fellow, he determined to marry her, but to his sorrow, she chose to enter a convent. "Haydn, you ought to marry my eldest daughter," jokingly said the father one day, for he was particularly pleased with the smart and gifted young director;--and Haydn did so. Whatever may have been the reason--gratitude, ignorance, helplessness in practical matters, or the wish to have a wife right away--whatever may have been the motive, he married, and sorely he had to suffer for it.

His wife was older than he, and this of itself made the relations between them very uncertain. Besides this, Dies says that she was an imperious and unfeeling woman, who was incapable of any consideration, and had earned the reputation of being a spendthrift. The proofs of her quarrelsomeness and of her heartless treatment of her husband reveal to us a perfect Xantippe. As compared with the simple, frank and joyous-hearted Haydn, she was an extreme bigot and prude. Only a person of his disposition could have endured such a wretched, and above all, childless marriage. "We were affectionate together, but for all that, I soon discovered that my wife was extremely frivolous," he very mildly said to Dies. He told Griesinger that he was obliged to carefully conceal his earnings from her on account of her passion for finery. She was also fond of inviting priests to dine, urging them to say many masses, and giving more money to them for charity than she could afford. Very many of Haydn's masses, and smaller church-pieces, especially those scattered about in the Austrian convents, are due to the fact that she availed herself of her husband's talent to appear generous. Under such circumstances he naturally did not accomplish his best work, but wrote in a careless style. Once, when Griesinger, for whom he had done some favor for which he would not accept anything, asked permission to make his wife a present, he resolutely replied: "She does not deserve anything. It is little matter to her whether her husband is an artist or a cobbler." She was also particularly malicious, and purposely tried to offend her husband, using his notes, for instance, as curl-papers, and in pie dishes, occasioning the loss, undoubtedly, of many of his earlier scores. One day, when she complained that there was not money enough in the house to bury him, in case he died suddenly, Haydn called her attention to a row of canons which were framed and hung upon the wall of his chamber, in lieu of any other decoration, and told her that they would bring enough for his funeral expenses. Notwithstanding his patience and good-heartedness, he could not overcome an intuitive feeling of repugnance for his wife. In the year 1805, when the violinist Baillot was visiting him, they happened to pass a picture in the hall. Haydn stopped, and grasping Baillot by the arm, said: "That is my wife. Many a time she has maddened me."

We now resume the course of our narrative. Dies says: "Six months passed by before Count Morzin knew that his Capellmeister was married. Circumstances occurred which changed Haydn's affairs. It became necessary for the Count to reduce his large expenses and to dismiss his musicians, and thus he lost his position." Prince Esterhazy, however, a short time before, had become acquainted with some of his orchestral pieces and admired them. His growing fame, his admirable personal character, besides Morzin's hearty commendations, secured for him the position of Capellmeister to the Prince in the same year , and he held it nearly to the close of his life. This position settled Haydn's future as a composer.

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